Doctor Who and the Olympians: The Titan's Master
by Jarl of the North
Summary: A revision of Jarl of the North's and King of Skaro's previous story, Doctor Who And the Olympians: Emergence. Hope you enjoy it as much as the previous version.
1. Prologue: Screw Retirement!

This is a co-written story by Jarl of the North and the King of Skaro. Neither of us own Doctor Who or Percy Jackson and the Olympians. Please support the official release!

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NARRATOR

The most profound aspect of the sheer void of space was not its endless expanse. While it did indeed instill a sense of awe and insignificance, it was something that eventually wore off with time and experience as one crossed the universe.

Rather, its most profound aspect was the silence. The sheer, torturous silence. Not a sound passed through the darkness, which was dotted with an infinite amount of stars, like holes in a black fabric, as one passed on through its expanse.

With time, it was enough to drive any sane person to madness.

And any mad person back to sanity.

However, the only occupant of the object that crossed the void had no worry of either. The first reason being that he had no use for such superficial ideals and names.

The other reason being that, while he disliked it, he'd grown accustomed to the quiet.

On the outside, the object wasn't that large - about eight feet in height and another three and a half feet in width, it seemed hardly large enough to contain two, possibly three people within. Seemed to have been carved from oak and painted a navy blue, the vessel, a box with the words POLICE PUBLIC CALL BOX emblazoned on the side near the top, couldn't have seemed more ordinary

Or more out of place.

On the inside, however, it was a very different story.

The entryway alone could have held its own outer shell well over ten times over. A circular room with a wooden door embedded in one of the walls, several hallways branched out from the other walls in a seemingly endless complex of hallways and rooms, each one unique and completely different in style from the last. The entryway itself was lit up like Christmas day by hundreds of lights, each giving off a glow that was white, light blue, or somewhere in between; the main source of the glow, however, was the massive aqua cylinder that dominated the center of the room, a series of consoles wrapping around its base like a cocoon, and further illuminated at the top by tens of bright white lights affixed to a step-like fixture, the consoles and the light fixture each holding the structure to its place in the center of the room, bound to the floor and ceiling.

However, the sight was dampened by the fact that none of the consoles were active.

Rather, they hadn't been so much as touched in what seemed to be months, a fine layer of dust sitting on each individual module and button.

However, this was not the room that contained the structure's sole occupant.

Somewhere in the winding halls, an absolutely gargantuan library loomed within. Stacked to the rafters with tablets, books and scrolls of every style, genre, civilization, race, and age, the collection was easily among the most impressive in the entire universe, if not_ the_ most impressive.

In the center of the room - the only area that wasn't absolutely stuffed with books, with hardly enough room to move - sat an old leather armchair, worn and well used, but obviously not yet ready to leave this universe to move on. Sitting in the chair, however, was the entire complex's only resident, who appeared no older than his late teens. Bright crimson hair hung from his scalp, messy and unkempt, as though he couldn't be bothered to take care of it aside from combing out the knots and giving it the occasional wash. His skin was slightly pale, and dotted with freckles wherever it was visible from underneath his clothing, which consisted of a dark green shirt with a light brown trench coat hanging from his shoulders. Fingerless brown gloves wrapped around his hands like they were a part of him, and his pants were a shade of darkened brown that, while normally would have clashed horribly with his black shoes, seemed to go rather well with them on him, as though designed specifically for him and him alone. Beneath his bangs, bright green eyes glowed with fond memories as he looked over each page of the book in his lap, each one containing different people; a balding man in his late thirties with a black leather coat, sitting at a table with a young woman with long blond hair.

_Rose Tyler,_ he smiled softly before flipping the page. Now, there was a man with short, spiky hair in a tweed jacket and a bowtie, two people by his side; a woman, with dark red hair that cascaded across her shoulders, her skin pale as she smiled up at the man through the lens of the camera; the other was a man, with short, dark brown hair and pale skin, his smile sincere, but somewhat clueless compared to the woman and the other man, _Amy Pond, and Rory Williams..._

He gave a sigh, once again flipping the page, _how I miss them all... every single one of them._

He continued like this for some time, recalling his past adventures with each separate companion he had taken with him through time and space, wishing how he could have gone back to those days, if only to make his peace. Even those he'd disliked, he missed; it would have been good to at least make some semblance of peace with them before being forced to move on again.

Eventually, he stood, closing the book, and striding over to one of the shelves. Carefully, as though it were a treasured family heirloom, he placed the book in the empty space it had occupied a few hours ago among the other books in the shelves, and stood silently for a moment, his hand still on the book as he thought.

_Maybe I really should look into retirement,_ he mused, his lip twisted in a melancholy smirk.

It was then that the universe decided to remind him of the reason he'd chosen to live, rather than simply fade away.

Why he'd chosen to continue on.

Why he had enjoyed - and would continue to enjoy - being alive.

Within the consciousness of the TARDIS, which hadn't stirred for weeks uncounted, something stirred. And at once, all throughout the machine, a sound began to echo - a bell, its ominous ring racing through the corridors, spreading all across the complex within an instant.

Immediately, the young adult snapped to attention, his green eyes glowing with intrigue, "what's perked your interest, sexy?" he murmured, shifting his weight from foot to foot. Then, he raced for the door, knocking over a pile of books as he moved. He skidded to a halt, staring at the books with an expression akin to loathing, before shaking his head, "oh, I'll clean you up later!"

Bursting out of the door, he raced down the hall as fast as his legs could possibly carry him. As soon as he arrived in the console room, he stared at the glowing object - a time rotor - he stepped up to the modules, "if this is just an act to get me to clean off the dust on your consoles, I'll have you know, it's going to make me very cross," he grunted, taking out a handkerchief and wiping off several monitors and keyboards, staring at several screens, blinking once or twice before hitting a button. Immediately, the screens came to life, and readings filled the entire glass surface. As he read each individual one, he felt an eyebrow force itself up his forehead, "that's weird," he murmured, flicking a switch to take a look at other readings. This time, both eyebrows began to climb up his forehead, "that's even weirder."

He stood up straight, licking at his lips and rubbing his chin, "well... this certainly deserves a look..." he trailed off, his hand moving to a lever, but stopping just short of it, hesitant. If he followed this, he was firing off his only chance at retirement for a while...

"Oh, the hell with it!" he crowed, his hand closing on the lever and pulling it down with every ounce of force he could muster. Immediately, the entire complex all around him roared to life, the familiar, jovial sounds of the TARDIS filling his ears and making his soul soar with the familiar burst that he always felt when traveling. He felt himself smirk, then felt the smirk turn into a grin. It wasn't long before he was laughing, the sound filling the TARDIS and falling into rhythm with the rest of the machine's sounds, "why did I even _think_ about retirement before!?" he managed between his laughter and his gasps for air, "work is so much more fun! I LOVE THIS JOB!"

On the outside, the vessel began to flicker, in and out of reality. Then it was gone, leaving the emptiness of space for the Doctor's next adventure.

**DOCTOR WHO AND THE OLYMPIANS: THE TITAN'S MASTER**


	2. Chapter 1: Awkward and Painful Arrivals

This is a co-written story by Jarl of the North and the King of Skaro. Neither of us own Doctor Who or Percy Jackson and the Olympians. Please support the official release!

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NARRATOR

At first, it had been smooth sailing; the TARDIS had begun to travel once again, the familiar whir and buzz of machinery music to the Doctor's ears as the intertemporal travel began.

However, it soon became clear that something was wrong. Very, very wrong.

For one thing, TARDISes were renowned throughout the universe for their natural ability to materialize wherever their masters wished with little to no trouble whatsoever, no matter the barriers placed or precautions made. Currently, the Type-40 TARDIS of the Doctor was, on some level that only the Doctor could sense, screaming. Screaming in a mixture of frustration and pain.

For another, the Doctor was fairly certain that the consoles were not supposed to spark the way they were right now.

He frantically pulled at the switches and levers in reach, his fingers dancing across the console like lightning through water. His face was grim as he constantly switched between the two monitors, his jaw set as he glanced up every once in a while, "come on, sexy, you've been through worse than this. Come on!"

Elsewhere, the dead of night was disrupted by a slight sound; some twist, a distortion in the mist, and in the barrier that kept the place known as Camp Half-Blood from the sight of normal humans; the air literally _rippled_, the borders of reality forced to stretch as the ancient laws that kept the universe balanced were bent, an unnatural light emanating from between the two Cabins that served as the head of the Camp - directly between the Zeus and Hera Cabins, the laws of magic and physics alike were in a frenzy, desperately trying with all their might to remain intact.

It was clear, however, they were failing utterly; for in yet another place altogether, the Fates sat by their fire, weaving together the past, present, and future as one. But even here, the disturbance was felt; their hands trembled as they struggled to weave their works; what they could make was poorly made, barely holding together, only fit to serve as guidelines for the future at best. And what was worst of all, was that the works they had already made - works that decided the rise and fall of empires - had begun to unravel on themselves, reduced to little more than strings of magic.

It was as though all the destinies of the world, of the past, the present and the future, of creatures, humans, monsters, and even empires, were struggling as one to break free from the grip of the Three Fates.

And the Fates were losing.

It was now that the victor was to be decided.

And the universe, it seemed, was not keen on allowing the Fates their victory.

Back within the borders of Camp Half-Blood, between the Zeus and Hera Cabins, something shattered; something within physics and magics alike simply snapped, unable to hold whatever it was fighting against back. The air slowly settled back to its normal state as a light whirring sound pierced the air - only slightly at first, but then growing in volume, like a piercingly high pitched, but steady heartbeat. Then, the flickering form of a new shape began within, the dark blue wood and opaque windows bare to the world for all to see, growing more solid with each passing second.

And all at once, as soon as it settled, as solid as any other thing within the world, a deafening boom swept through the night, heralding the final landing of the TARDIS. To anyone who might have been there to witness it, it would have seemed as though the space between the Cabins and the TARDIS were perfectly measured - as though it had always been meant to be there.

Within, the Doctor had been knocked onto his back, staring up at the ceiling as the TARDIS let out a low groan of pain. He gave a grin, chuckling, then let that chuckle grow into a new, bold laughter as he sat up, "this is why I love traveling to new places," he took in a deep breath as he stood, then sighed, "oh, I've missed this."

Once again chuckling, he strode across the bridge to the door, fishing in his pocket for his key, psychic paper, and sonic screwdriver. Satisfied that he had what he needed, he gripped the handle of the door, raising his hand, "let's see where you've taken me this time, sexy."

With that, he opened the door, and strode out into the night, glancing about.

The first thing that struck him were the odd buildings that surrounded the area in a sort of giant U shape - each one of completely different design than the others. Another was that almost all of them were completely silent - as though they were abandoned hornet nests, the hives completely emptied of their would-be residents.

Perplexed, the Doctor took out his sonic screwdriver, scanning the air. As soon as he got a reading, his face twisted even further in his confusion, "definitely Long Island... New York..." he looked up again, "but not one I've ever been to before."

He strode further out, first moving over to the structure that appeared to be made completely from gold, bronze and polished white marble. He rolled his eyes, remembering some particularly proud people he'd come across that wouldn't hesitate to build something like this to live in for camping, and muttered, "_someone _is rather proud of themselves, now aren't they?"

He made his way to the door, made from polished oak, and knocked on the door. When no one answered, he tried again, a bit louder this time. Finally, he drove his fist into it several times at full force, not even making a dent in the wood, but the echoes in the structure plain for all to hear.

He shook his hand, giving it a sideways glace as it stung with pain, then murmured, "guess no one's home," before twisting the nob and opening the door, quickly striding into the dark. A new smell entered his nostrils, making him blink a few times before licking at the air with his tongue, as though it were a sugar cube. After taking a few seconds to let the taste settle in his mouth, he smiled

"Ozone," he decided, then continued on, his eyes taking in every detail of the room.

It didn't take him long to do a complete search of the place - aside from lots of pillars, white and polished shiny metal, there wasn't much to look at.

"This place is completely barren," he muttered, glancing about, "why would anyone want to live here?"

He shook his head before something finally caught his eye; in the corner of the room, a set of objects lay on the floor. A sleeping bag, some basic toiletries, a backpack - and that was it. He strode over to it, kneeling to examine the objects - all recently used, no more than a day or two ago. He smirked, "well... not completely barren after all, are we?" he mused.

He'd begun to reach for the bag when his ear twitched; a rather loud commotion approaching from outside the structure. He glanced in the direction of the noise, then sighed, standing back up, "hm... looks like my search has been put on hold for now," he muttered, "better get back to the TARDIS... I don't want to be nearly sacrificed by crazed cultists for some false god again."

With that, he turned, and strode towards the exit.

As soon as he grabbed the doors and flung them open, he could feel his hearts both leap and drop into his stomach as weapons of all sorts were pointed at him, from bows and arrows to swords to spears, and even the odd shotgun. No less, these weapons were being held by what looked like children - none of his would-be murderers were older than seventeen.

He blinked once as silence encompassed the area, found at a loss for words for the first time in his life against the absurdity of this entire situation.

It took him a few seconds for him to find his voice.

"Well... this is awkward."


End file.
